Sometimes A Lifetime
by Jayneysuk
Summary: How long does it take to fall in love a second? a minute? a lifetime? How long does it take to realise it? After events conspire to bring the Unit to it's demise, realisation comes quicker for some than others
1. Chapter 1

**Title: Sometimes A Lifetime**

**Pairing: Grace/Boyd**

**Rating: T (to be on the safe side)**

**Spoilers: Up to and including season nine**

**Summary: Sometimes it takes a minute, sometimes it's a week, sometimes a lifetime, but when you know you know.**

**Disclaimer: The characters from Waking the Dead do not belong to me, I merely like to have a little fun.**

**Chapter One**

The pub was loud and almost full to capacity on what was probably a typical Friday night, the majority of it's patrons oblivious to the importance of the event. There were a selected few privy to the fact that the evening marked the end of an era and probably the end of the Cold Case Unit. The man himself hadn't wanted a fuss, just a few drinks and a quiet send off. Grace and Spencer had wanted to throw the works, no expense spared, but in light of recent events it had seemed somewhat prudent to go for the low key approach.

Although they had arrived together, taking the short walk from the station together, the confines of the room had separated them into their default pairings. Boyd and Spence were holding court at the bar with a the small group of officers Boyd had managed to remain genial with over the years, the volume of the bar making it almost impossible for anyone to hear the topic of conversation. Grace and Eve had found a table and the last two empty chairs, it seemed, close to a window so that they could at least enjoy the gentle breeze of the night air.

"Could he have chosen any more of a dive?" Eve asked, sliding her chair closer to Grace as a cheer went up across the room.

"I think there was method to his madness," Grace said,her voice barely audible. "Well as much as there ever is." She leaned closer. "He was trying to put as many people off as possible."

"And yet we came."

Grace smiled back at her. "He did say please."

For the last half hour they had tried, mostly unsuccessfully, to have a conversation, hampered by the noise and the indiscriminate fact that they were each struggling to come to terms with what had happened and what was to follow. Nicholson's death had put pay to any chance that Boyd would have a stay, merely prolonging the inevitable. For the rest of the team it had forced an epiphany of epic proportions.

"When do you think it will hit him?" Eve asked, her eyes drawn momentarily to her former boss.

Grace dragged her eyes away from him, her instinct to watch over him ever present, and turned to look at her colleague. "I think it has. He's in full show mode tonight. Her eyes drifted back to Boyd, his head thrown back as he laughed vociferously at something someone said, his pint swinging precariously in his hand.

"Grace? Grace?" Eve asked, concern for her friend evident in her voice.

Grace cleared her throat, her attention once more on her current surroundings.

"I said has he talked to you?"

Grace allowed herself a heavyhearted chuckle. "He hasn't in ten years so why should now be any different. These days he's deliberately not talking to me." It had been two weeks since Nicholson had been found dead in the warehouse, ten days since Sarah had been buried, and three days since the enquiry panel had drawn to an end. Boyd had spent most of his time answering questions in his usual facilitatory way and clearing out his office.

Eve stole a glance at her boss. "Have you tried?"

"It feels like I've been trying with Boyd for a lifetime." She let out a sigh. Every attempt she had made to entice him to dinner or for a drink had been met with a distinct no. "All he says is not today, or I have a report to write or I'm late for an appointment." The problem was talking to Grace inevitably led him to dig deep inside and unburden himself of every guilty feeling he had ever harboured, which Grace knew was not what he wanted or needed in the middle of an enquiry into his possible culpability. It still didn't make it any easier to deal with.

"So what happens now?" Eve asked, her tone suddenly weary, her attention focused on her friend.

"You go to work at the body farm and I, well I guess I go back to the day job," Grace replied, her voice betraying little of the hurt she was feeling. It shouldn't have surprised her, his lack of concern for the future beyond his own, but it sure as hell pissed her off. When Boyd has announced his forced retirement, she had hoped for a reprieve but after the unspeakable events it had become clear that there was no going back. Not that it mattered any more - Spence would be transferred elsewhere and Boyd was gone. In all honesty she had known for almost a decade that when Boyd went, she would follow. Adjusting to new team members over the years had been difficult but not impossible, adjusting to a new boss would have been something else, so she had tendered her resignation on the pretence that she would take a well deserved break and then start the search for something else. In the turbulent few weeks that had passed Boyd had never asked and she had not shared her plans.

"I didn't see the point in staying," Eve offered, "it wouldn't have been the same." Although she had joined the team late, her loyalty to Grace and by extension to Boyd, was absolute. The idea of building that sort of relationship with someone new was unappealing and instead she had opted to follow Spence in search of something different and less encompassing.

They momentarily fell silent as a young man they both recognised from the Cold Case building approached carrying a glass of beer and a large glass of wine.

"Boyd asked me to bring these over." He placed the two glasses on the table and weaved his way back through the crowd.

"Thanks." Grace lifted the glass and toasted Boyd. "He's finally remembered we're still here."

Eve took a lengthy sip of her drink before lowering the glass to the table. Her fingers moved around the cylindrical glass, as her brain played over what she was about to say. "So this is it then?"

Grace stared at her, the confusion evident across her features.

"We go our separate ways," Eve shrugged. "You and Boyd . . ."

"We don't go there, remember?" Grace stated, her voice firm but kind.

"The problem with not going there is inevitably the moment passes and you're left with nothing but what ifs and regrets." For five years there had been a silent acknowledgement that she knew but that they would never actually discuss it, to what end Eve wasn't entirely sure.

"I'm seriously not drunk enough for this conversation," Grace laughed awkwardly, lifting her glass to her lips, her fingers rubbing together nervously.

"I'm just pointing out that after tonight you'll go your separate ways and . . ." She gestured wildly, trying to find the most subtle phrasing. "To hell with it. You're in love with him and you'll never get to tell him."

Grace chuckled, her head falling forward as she tried to regain her composure. "You almost busted a gut getting that out, didn't you? Seriously, in love? I think you've had too much to drink. I like him is all. I'd like to think our friendship may extend beyond ten years of conversations over dead bodies."

"If you don't tell him that, he won't know." It was Eve's turn to smile. "Just think for the first time in his life he might shut up."

"If I try and tell him that he'll inevitably say something stupid and the night will end in a debate. Better that we leave the door open and see where it takes us. You have to want to be friends to be friends."

"And?" Eve asked, her tone a little more urgent than she had planned.

"And maybe I don't want to give him the satisfaction of me being the one to ask," Grace replied sadly.

Eve rolled her eyes. "That's the stupidest reason I've heard yet."

"Maybe it's the best one I have." Grace raised the glass to her lips and emptied it. The sharpness of the wine hit her throat as she swallowed, a metaphor hidden in it's depths somewhere. "And as enjoyable as this has been, I'm going home," she said, "Do you need a lift or something?"

Eve allowed herself a small smile. "I'm covered."

"It's about time you two went legit." She placed a hand on Eve's arm as Eve opened her mouth to speak. "Let's just leave it, okay. I think it's sweet." Picking up her over-sized bag, wincing briefly at it's weight, Grace rose to her feet. "Call me when things settle down. We can have a drink or dinner." She bent down to give the younger woman a hug, holding a little tighter and longer than she normally would, the finality of the moment not lost on her. "Call me even if things haven't settled down."

"Night, Grace. Take care, okay."

Grace glanced at the door, wondering if she could take the easier option and slip unnoticed out the door but something stopped her. She wasn't sure if it was good manners, a masochist desire or some unfettered hope that he would actually acknowledge whatever the hell the problem was between them. Slinging the bag over her shoulder she weaved her way through the crowds, coming to an sudden halt as she reached the bar.

"Gracie," Spence cried, placing an arm around her and pulling her against him. "You haven't got a drink."

"I think you've had enough for both of us."

"Not nearly enough," he grinned.

"I'm going home," she said, with a smile, trying unsuccessfully to extract herself from his embrace. "To a hot bath and a book."

"Stay. We're talking about getting a curry later."

She shook her head, knowing where the evening was heading and not wanting to be a reluctant participant. "Maybe some other time, Spence. You take care." Leaning up she placed a light kiss on his cheek. "Night."

Spence released her gently and kissed the top of her head. "Night, Grace."

It seemed like a lifetime as she stood before Boyd, waiting for him to say anything. His eyes were a little glazed she noted, his cheeks a little rosy, the effects of beer and whiskey chasers having the desired effect.

"Are you having a good night?" she finally asked, while he continued to stare at her, or past her, she couldn't be sure.

"Yeah. You're not going, are you? Spence and I are going for a curry. You should come."

"It's well passed my bedtime. I just wanted to say goodbye." There was a speech there somewhere, words that she would never say, a list of wishes and hopes for the future.

He leaned in conspiratorially, his hand brushing her waist. "But I haven't made my speech yet."

"I should definitely go then," she laughed, her body reacting to his proximity and the familiarity of his touch. "You might embarrass us both."

"Indulge me, Grace, you might be surprised."

She shook her head and he dropped his hand, caught by something in her eyes he couldn't quite fathom. "Okay, then goodnight, Grace," he said, placing his glass on the bar and turning back to look at her.

They stood staring at each other briefly before he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her, the hug so brief that she wondered if she had imagined it. She could have stayed all night watching the array of emotions flicker across his features, hoping that after more than a decade he would realise something she knew within a week, but she was too old and too sensible to wait. Instead she stepped away, weaving her way back through the throng of people, her heart thundering in her chest, a sadness washing over her, until she reached the door. Instinctively, she turned and found him watching her, a smile tweaking at his lips, his glass raised in salute. She nodded before pushing the door and stepping outside, the door swinging behind her in finality.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**I've finally finished editing this and I think it's ok. Let me know what you think. Chapter three is almost done. Hopefully there will be six chapters in all, although Grace and Boyd may have other ideas :) **

**Title: Sometimes A Lifetime**

**Pairing: Grace/Boyd**

**Rating: T (to be on the safe side)**

**Spoilers: Up to and including season nine**

**Summary: Sometimes it takes a minute, sometimes it's a week, sometimes a lifetime, but when you know you know.**

**Disclaimer: The characters from Waking the Dead do not belong to me, I merely like to have a little fun.**

**Chapter Two**

It had been a long morning and Grace was relieved to finally be home in the sanctuary of her own house. There was a faint scent of vanilla and blackcurrant in the air and a stillness she had been thinking about since she had started her car nearly an hour ago. Kicking the door closed behind her, she made her way down the hallway to the kitchen, her footsteps heavy and weary on the hardwood floor. Her coat was soaked, her suit beneath it clinging to her but instead of rushing to change she set about discarding her bag on the counter and filling the kettle. Although only early afternoon the sky loomed beyond the window, almost a charcoal grey, the impending darkness moving in like impending doom. Although the thought struck her as a little melodramatic, it matched her mood. In the space of a few hours so many plans had had to be tossed aside, and after years of prioritising work, a retirement filled with frivolity now seem unobtainable. She rubbed her face with her hands and shook her head, willing herself out of her musings before they took hold. There was a sudden aroma of lemon and honey, as the water splashed onto the teabag and it instantly calmed her mood. Mug in one hand and chocolate biscuit in the other, Grace padded back along the hallway to the sitting room. The front room was barely lit as she entered and she moved around the room drawing the curtains, turning on lights, and pumping up pillows on her favourite armchair. Finally, she abandoned her shoes in the middle of the floor, and walked back out into the hallway to haphazardly hang her coat on the bannister.

Grace had barely settled herself, the chocolate biscuit half eaten, when she heard the noise. At first she couldn't place it, just a gentle rapping, then repeated seconds later, louder, more confident, and more distinctive. She let out a deep but frustrated sigh, knowing before she reached the door who it would be, and not really sure whether she even wanted to see him. Quickly she finished the biscuit, not wanting him to see her weakness, then taking a steadying breath, she reluctantly opened the door, "Hey."

He stood before her for the first time in two months, dark wool coat wrapped tightly around him, his face set with a broad grin that seemed out of place on such a dismal day. "Hi, Grace."

"Boyd. You'd better come in," she said, her tone less than inviting as she stepped back and allowed him to step over the threshold, closing the door firmly behind him.

"I'm not disturbing you, am I?" he asked, uncertainty suddenly evident in his demeanour. He had been trying and failing to come up with a reason to call her for weeks and now that he had a legitimate one, he was fairly sure she didn't want to see him. Not that that had ever stopped him before but things were clearly different.

"No, it's fine. I was just going to get changed." She indicated her wet clothes. "Tea?"

"The normal kind?" Boyd asked, bending slightly to remove his shoes, his coat tossed onto the bannister, landing haphazardly on top of hers, a move which irked her.

"I'm having honey and lemon, but I'll make you the normal kind," she said, with a small smile, unable to say mad at him for too long. She manoeuvred around him to make her way to the kitchen. "Go on through." Alone again, she pulled a face. Despite wanting him to call, she had long given up hope of his ever taking the initiative. Instead she had become accustomed to the idea that they would meet again eventually, probably accidentally, she just hadn't planned on his appearing in her doorway on a rainy Wednesday afternoon. His timing like always could not have been worse. "Here you go," she said, handing him a steaming mug of dark brown tea, just the way he liked it. "I'll be back down in a second."

Grace climbed the stairs two at a time, her mind mentally evaluating the state of her front room, trying to remember if she had polished the day before and whether there was anything revealing he could happen upon. The detective in him, she knew, would not be able to sit still, his pacing intensifying in moments of distress and discomfort. Upstairs in her bedroom there was a momentary panic as she finally removed the wet woollen suit and searched her wardrobe for something comfortable to wear. She finally settled on a pair of loose linen trousers and a long baggy sweater in a blue, which almost matched her eyes.

Beyond the window the storm gathered momentum – the rain falling heavier, sheets of water crashing against the pavement, the bushes deflecting under the weight of the droplets. The thunder rumbled loud and ominous, as though a thousand guns were alighting the battle field. It reminded her that the battle downstairs was yet one to win, and not one she was looking forward too. Her body trembled as the first bolt of lightening lit up the sky and she shuddered, suddenly feeling cold. Each flash was piercing and violent, momentarily illuminating an otherwise dark, lifeless sky. She watched memorised, stalling the inevitable conversation, feeling alive as she watched the storm which would eventually take afternoon into evening, the smell of wet grass drifting through the open window. Grace heard a noise downstairs and remembered where she should be.

"I'm sorry," she said, as she dropped into the armchair. "I've been out all day and then got wet walking to my car and . . ."

Boyd waved his hand dismissively. "I probably should have called."

Grace didn't say anything, not wanting to placate him. He should have called, he should have been in contact sooner, but instead he had turned up out of the blue. It hit her all at once and she had to take a breath, "Who told you?" The tone was accusatory and she didn't much care.

He had the good grace to look sheepish, his hands pressed together on his lap, his eyes focusing on the carpet. "Eve let it slip over dinner two nights ago."

Another time, another place, she would have laughed. Instead she stared at him. After two months apart it should not have surprised her that he still managed to annoy her within a minute of them being in the same room, but it did.

"I'm guessing if I had bothered to call you would have told me." He let the sentence hang, an unspoken question weaved into his words, his shoulders rising in hope, then falling as her stare became a glare. "I thought if I just turned up. . ."

"Yeah, well. So are you going to ask me?" She shifted position, tucking her legs under her and turning slightly so she wasn't looking at him full on. She watched him take a deep breath, trying to read what was hidden in the dark pools of his eyes, concern, fear maybe, or at least a tenderness he had only shown her a handful of times before.

"How did it go at the hospital?"

"It went okay," she said flatly, forcing a smile. "They poked me with needles and asked me lots of frankly pointless questions."

"But you're okay?" he asked, his voice tentative, his expression earnest. The idea of Grace being sick filled him with an anxiety that had nothing to do with his own mortality. He had never admitted to her how important she was, never would, which was more about his failings than anything else. He found he couldn't look at her, his eyes instead focusing on the photos on the wall behind her.

"Yes. Look at me Boyd." Grace waited until his eyes locked with hers. "I'm okay." She gave him a smile, weary and defeated. "Sorry, I'm tired. Three hours in a hospital will do that to you."

The phone rang, breaking into the encompassing silence, and she reached to the small side table to answer it. "Grace Foley."

"Hi, it's Eve."

"Hey."

"I owe you an apology. I thought I should warn you that . . ."

"He's already here," Grace said, her hands playing with the hem of her jumper as she willed the conversation to be over, deception never coming easily to her.

"Sorry, it just slipped out. I thought he knew, but then I should have known." Eve paused. "How did it go?"

Grace nodded, "Good. Can I call you later? If I start using long technical jargon Boyd is going to glaze over and I may never get him back."

"Sure. Maybe we can arrange a night out."

"Thanks, that would be lovely," Grace said, her eyes following Boyd as he sipped his tea and pretending not to watch her. "Bye, Eve."

"Long technical jargon. Glaze over?" he asked, a teasing tone undermining the stern expression he was trying to muster.

"Really? You want me to go into details?" she enquired, her tone changing to one of concern as she studied him further. "You look like hell. Have you been sleeping?"

Boyd laughed, leaning forward in his chair. "I didn't come for a consultation, Grace."

"So what did you come for?" She held her hand up in apology. "Sorry, I'm just tired."

"I wanted to make sure you were okay? To see what you've been up to? Maybe just to see you," he trailed off

She raised an eyebrow, sceptical of his motives.

"I'm trying here."

"You've always been a little bit trying, Boyd. Drink your tea." She sipped her drink, the honey soothing her throat after a day of conversations. She watched him over her glasses as he surveyed her room, trying to investigate her life without the need for small talk. "I'm okay, really. They need to do their checks and investigations. But I have a reprieve. What have you been doing?"

He laughed. "Going off my rocker, as you predicted. I've cleared out my garage, finally decorated the house and demolished the shed." His face fell and silent evaded the room.

Grace leaned forward, her instincts urging her to touch him, her head telling her otherwise. "Boyd."

He held up his hand. "I'm running out of distractions. I thought about taking a holiday but then I remembered I haven't had a holiday in ten years."

"All the more reason to take one."

"What about you?"

"Finishing papers, working on my book, de-cluttering the study, learning to sleep a full night. I've even spent time with the grandchildren." In truth she had filled her day with anything and everything to try and fill the void. Some days she had succeeded better than others.

"Bored too, eh?"

"I thought about going back to work but with the cuts . . .," she trailed off, knowing that there wasn't a job anywhere that could give her the satisfaction he had.

"They would be stupid not to have you back," he said, placing his mug on the table.

Grace tried but failed to stifle a yawn.

"I should go. You look exhausted." Boyd rose to his feet, knowing that as much as he wanted to stay and continue talking, she needed him to go.

In the hallway she watched as he put on his shoes and retrieved his coat. His hand was on the door handle when she remembered the box in her cupboard and placed a hand on his arm. "Hold on a second." She began retreating down the hallway. "I bought you this as a leaving present. Something silly, but then. . . anyway it's been in the cupboard." Her head disappeared into the cupboard only to emerge seconds later with a large box. "I thought you could add it to the plane."

His expression turned to one of amusement as he studied the packaging. "You bought me a remote control car?"

"A police car, Boyd." She gave him a big smile as she handed him the box.

"Thank you, Grace. You're a strange woman." He leaned in and kissed her lightly on the cheek, his hand lightly stroking her arm.

"Night, Boyd," she said softly, her eyelids fluttering shut under the sensation of his touch

"Goodnight, Grace."

She closed the door behind him, resisting the urge to run to the window and watch him go, instead she stood for a moment or two with her back to the door, her head in her hands, suddenly overwhelmed with exhaustion. Shaking her head, she bolted the door and made her way upstairs, turning the lights off as she went.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

Finally I have finished another chapter. It's going a little slowly due to too much drama in my life. I'm hoping things settle down soon. Apologies for the formatting but my software hates me right now.

Enjoy

Chapter Three

Grace reached out for the incessant ringing phone, her hand slapping against the bedside table as she tried to locate the offending item without opening her eyes. Her hand finally located it and she brought it to her ear. "Grace Foley," she mumbled, her voice gravelly from sleep.

"Hey Grace," he greeted, his tone one of somebody who had been up drinking caffeine for some time. "It's Boyd."

She inwardly groaned as her stomach did the weird little flip thing it did when she heard his name. "It's Sunday morning." Sub-consciously she re-arranged the duvet around her.

"And there was I thinking you were a morning person," he laughed, before catching sight of his watch. "Shit, sorry."

As much as she generally loved his laugh and the way his eyes crinkled when he did so, she didn't really appreciate it when she was feeling distinctly below par herself. "Please tell me you're not phoning to tell me about a night out," she snarked, shifting position until she was half sitting, half laying across the bed, her toes testing the temperature beyond the covers. He hesitated and the churning in her stomach intensified. Two seconds she told herself and if the next words out of his mouth involved a date she was going to hang up.

"No, I couldn't sleep and I was sorting stuff out," he continued, oblivious to her growing annoyance. "I found the wedding invitation in a drawer. Are you going?"

Seven am on a Sunday morning was not her best time, nor for that matter was eight am, especially when she had been out drinking the night before, and it took her a minute or two to follow his train of thought. "Spence's? Eve's?"

"Yeah. One and the same."

The toes wiggled in the warm air and she decided to venture her foot further. "Yes, I'm going."

Boyd smiled to himself, locating his mobile under a pile of bills. "Good. I didn't much fancy being stuck on my own."

"Really, you're actually going to something that social?" she asked, more than a little surprised. In ten years she hadn't really known him to attend anything without a little bribing or cojoling. "What did Spence do? Hold a gun to your head?"

He laughed heartedly and she briefly remembered the late nights in her office when they would sit on the floor and debate the world.

"No. I go to things."

Grace wasn't convinced but there had been too much water under the bridge to call him on it. "Okay."

"I should let you get on." He lapsed into silence, hoping that she would say something. When she was less than forthcoming he added, "I'll see you at the wedding."

"Yes," she confirmed, her eyes finally opening to streaming sunlight through the curtains. "Just a thought but I wouldn't text your acceptance to Spence just this second."

Boyd dropped the phone on top of the bills, a smile playing on his lips. "Goodbye Grace."

"Bye Boyd," she said, tossing the phone on the table with a frustrated groan. It was five past seven and in the space of those few minutes he had annoyed her, confused her and left her wondering what the hell he really wanted. Of course it was yet another one of those things they would never discuss. With no real hope of her going back to sleep and his having managed to disrupt her day without really trying, there was nothing else for it but to start the day. Throwing back the covers, Grace slid out of bed, not really sure what to do next but knowing that a cup of tea was high on the agenda.

Grace climbed the steps to the registry office, turning the brass door knob and pushing open the heavy wooden door. As she stepped inside she found herself mildly disappointed. Despite it's imposing Victorian facade, inside the building the hallway was modern with magnolia walls and a swirling patterned carpet, wooden fire doors leading off in several directions. It lacked intimacy and charm and she briefly wondered how many couples had started their married life in one of it's generic rooms. She hovered, glancing at the signs on the doors, not really sure where to go, when she heard his voice. Taking a deep breath in preparation for a long day ahead, she pasted a smile on her face, and turned to face him. "Hey, Boyd."

He waited, torn between wanting to kiss her cheek and hugging her. Neither was their 'thing' but each seemed equally appropriate in the surroundings. Hesitantly he leaned in and brushed his lips over her cheek.

Grace felt herself blush, and turned away.

"The waiting room is this way," he said, a small smirk crossing his face at her reaction, his hand resting lightly against her arm, gently leading her along the corridor.

There was something all too familiar about his touch, something comforting but dangerous, something that she had struggled to contain for more years than she cared to remember. Absence it seemed had had little effect at dampening her infatuation. Mentally she chided herself for being too old and too sensible for such nonsense, all the while leaning into his touch. She let him lead her in silence because inevitably one of them would say the wrong thing.

They reached a room painted in the same muted colour as the rest of the building, chairs arranged around the room, most of them already occupied, and Boyd came to a halt.

Grace smiled and nodded at the gathered guests, not really recognising anyone.

"Spence is in with the registrar. He shouldn't be long." He smiled at her and she found herself smiling back. "You look good," he added as if an afterthought.

Unconsciously she smoothed down the purple linen trousers and her hand toyed with the chunky necklace at her throat. "Thanks." She didn't need to tell him he looked good in a suit. He always had and he knew it.

"I never thought I would see the day," he whispered conspiratorially. "Our Spence married."

"I'd almost given up hope," Grace replied, her tone somewhat wistful. "We're not exactly the best role models."

He chuckled quietly. "We managed one happy marriage between us."

She was about to comment on the years of being single they had both endured when she heard a voice behind them.

"Ladies and gentlemen, if you would like to follow me," a young woman announced, appearing beside them. "Spencer and Evelyn will join us shortly."

The service had been a simple one, over in less than twenty minutes and a round of applause had spontaneously broken out as the new bride and groom shared their first kiss. The second longer kiss had been met with giggling or groaning, or in some cases both as it lasted a little too long. One of the guests, an old friend of Spence's had been on hand to take a few photos before they had walked en mass along the high street to the Five Keys. There was nothing extravagant about the reception venue, just a friendly pub but it offered the intimacy the couple wanted as they shared their big day with their few close friends.

As much as she tried to extract herself, Grace found herself with her own little lost sheep in tow. At the bar he had insisted on buying her a drink and then guiding her to a quiet corner of the room. Her attempts at making idle conversation with either of the wedding party's friends had involved him lurking in the background. In the end she had allowed him to guide her to a table and sit next to her for dinner. He left her briefly to head in the direction of the bar, only to return five minutes later with a bottle of wine in each hand. She had raised an eyebrow in question and he had smirked back at her, a knowing look on his face. The wine had in fact lasted longer than the conversation.

Grace poured them each another glass of wine and leaned back in her seat. "So did you go on his stag night?" she asked casually.

Boyd shook his head. "They went clubbing!" he offered by way of explanation.

"Oh, you were aged out of the proceedings." She chuckled lightly, taking a small sip from her glass and stealing a glance in his direction. "It happens to the best of us."

"Let's just say loud music, twenty year old girls and five quid a pint isn't my idea of a night out."

"Really?" she asked, a light teasing tone to her voice.

Boyd narrowed his eyes. "Yes, really, Grace. I prefer my drink to come in a can, my music with slightly less bass and my women more mature and certainly more intellectual."

She paused, hesitant and apprehensive about his answer. "So is there anyone mature and intellectual in your life?" Grace had hoped to sound casual and nonchalant but failed.

"Women don't particularly like me."

"They do and then they get to know you," Grace commented, her lips teasing up into a smile. In truth women were drawn to him, mostly for the wrong reasons, and most didn't stick around because he made sure they didn't want to.

"You stuck around?"

"I learnt to tolerate you." She squeezed his arm briefly then released it just as quickly.

"So that's the secret to a successful relationship," Boyd commented dryly. "Mutual toleration."

Grace rolled her eyes, biting back a retort, and returned to scanning the room. She watched as Eve crossed the room, her eyes seeking out her new husband. There was a moment before she launched herself into his arms and they kissed. It was spontaneous and for a moment Grace envied them everything. For three years they had managed a discreet semi-casual relationship. For ten years she had gone home alone while the man she loved fell for inappropriate women and worked himself into an early grave.

"Am I boring you?"

She blinked and turned to look at him.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his brow furrowing as he watched a myriad of emotions cross her face. "You were a million miles away."

"They seem so happy," Grace offered wistfully, her chin dropping onto her hand. "So in love and so happy."

Boyd sighed deeply. "Good."

It was Grace's turn to be taken aback. There was something in his tone that she hadn't heard for a long time, maybe not ever before and she wished she could hear it more.

"Just because I'm miserable, doesn't mean I want everyone else to be," he replied, smiling mildly. "Marriage works for some people. Of course it helps if you're not a bed hopping, alcoholic, workaholic."

"Is that what she threw at you?" Grace asked, her tone soft, and surprised.

He shrugged. "I've had worse."

Grace lapsed into silence as she remembered the worst fight they had ever had and then all of them came tumbling to mind. "I'm going to dance," she announced, no longer wanting to sit and dwell on everything wrong in their lives.

He watched her rise to her feet, her movements uncertain, her hand resting on his shoulder as she steadied herself.

"Dance with me?" she asked, her hand outstretched for his, her eyes dancing in the dimness of the bar.

Boyd shook his head, laughing. "I don't dance."

She shrugged her shoulders and moved to join the happy couple on the make shift dance floor. The alcohol was clouding her senses, she knew, but she couldn't help but relax and enjoy herself. The music changed and she moved her body in time to the beat, her hips gyrating a little more than she was used to, her voice humming along with the melody. Slowly she turned and shot him a smile before turning to her friends.

Boyd watched from the table, his eyes drawn to his former colleague as she danced. Lifting his glass to his lips he feigned disinterest but she turned and their eyes met, and he felt his heart race. Grace was drunk, which was entirely his fault, and the fact that he was also pretty intoxicated was a dangerous combination. There had been numerous occasions when after too many glasses they had found themselves deep in conversations that touched on places they had long hidden. Tonight the drink was releasing feelings that he thought he had long ago gotten over. The fact that he was drawn to her proved otherwise. With a sigh and an acknowledgement that he was playing with fire he rose to his feet.

Grace wasn't aware of his presence until he was stood behind her and she heard Spence say his name.

"You're dancing?" she breathed.

"Just keeping you upright," Boyd whispered against her ear as he gently wrapped an arm around her waist, his body swaying in time with hers. "You okay?"

She nodded, not trusting her voice. She could feel the warmth of his body pressing against her back and the scent of his cologne was overpowering her senses.

The music changed to something softer and he turned her gently in his arms, his hand falling to her waist as they danced. It had the sobering effect she needed and when she glanced up she could see the light in his eyes. He was clearly drunk, the effects making him more tactile than usual. As his hand slipped further down her waist to rest on her hips, his free hand held hers. It was awkward at first but there was nowhere for her to go.

They moved together around the floor, his grip loosening and she found herself leaning into him, relaxing as he guided her. "You should dance more often," she offered wistfully. "You're good."

"They don't call me Fred Astaire for nothing."

Grace pulled back to study his face.

"Okay, so that was a little random."

"Time we went home," she announced, reluctantly stepping out of his embrace. "Let's go say goodbye."

"Sunshine on a rainy day." She was singing, which in itself was almost grounds for therapy, but it was the morning after the night before and she was happy. The lack of a hangover was a promising start. Her bare feet padded across the tiled floor as she picked up the kettle, and crossed to the sink.

"You're still here?"

The tone of his voice left her unsure as to whether it was a statement or a question. "Good morning, Boyd," she said, trying to instill some social graces in him.

"Good morning, Grace."

"Yes, I'm still here." Placing the kettle back on the dark granite surface, she turned, intent on telling him why. A blush immediately tinged her cheeks as she took in the sight before her.

Over the years of working with him she had walked in on him in various states of undress, shirt un-tucked, trousers unbuckled, barefoot, but she had never seen him quite so exposed. He was still wearing the black suit trousers from the night before, his feet barefoot as he crossed the tiled floor, his shirt untucked and unbuttoned, his chest perfectly exposed. The effect of his James Bond moment was setting off all sorts of connotations in her brain and she had to turn away.

Boyd glanced down, a wide grin tweaking at his lips as he hastenly buttoned his shirt.

Surreptitiously she stole a second glance, saddened by the fact he had covered up

"Making yourself at home?"

"I wasn't sure when you'd be up and about so I was making fresh tea." She opened a cupboard door, closing it again when it contained only crockery.

Boyd stepped around her, opening cupboards as he located mugs and teabags. "You stayed?" He inwardly groaned at how stupid he sounded when clearly she was in the same clothes looking tousled and beautiful. He blamed the latter for the fact he'd lost his ability to be coherent.

"In the spare room, yes. You were out of it and the taxi had gone." She gestured with her hands.

"Did I . . .?"

"Full of questions this morning, aren't you," she teased, briefly trying out endings to his sentence. "I found a T-shirt in your drawer and I slept on the duvet. I was fine."

He waited a beat. "Okay."

"Really? You don't sound convinced."

He pulled a face, as he contemplated his next words. The situation had the feel of a morning after, although he was pretty sure he would have remembered if they had actually spent the night together, and he was feeling decidedly awkward. The fact that Grace seemed happy and not in the least bit uncomfortable in his house and in his presence, he hoped meant that he hadn't done anything to warrant an apology. Breathing a sigh of relief, he said, "I'm not sure what I have in the cupboards, but breakfast?"

Grace held the mug in her hands, thankful for something to distract her. "Why don't we go out?"

Boyd raised an eyebrow in question.

"For breakfast, Boyd."

"Give me five minutes and I'll change."

"Take a shower too," she called after him making her way through his house to her favourite chair. Tucking her legs under her, she sipped her tea and stared out of the window. While she should feel awkward, or at least a little angry at him, for once everything seemed perfectly right. She shook her head with a smile. It was foolish to think he was anything other than confused by the turn of events, but for a little while longer she was going to enjoy a slightly off balance Peter Boyd. If anything it was payback for. . . well everything he had ever done to annoy her.


End file.
